


Autonomy

by rmlone



Category: Original Work
Genre: College, Dehydration, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Isolation, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Starvation, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28085031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmlone/pseuds/rmlone
Summary: Screaming, she desperately scrabbles away, getting nowhere on the slick floor with her shackles taut. Only once she forces herself to stop moving does she hear Summer giggling.Her chin is suddenly seized and brought even closer to Summer's peripheral. “I don’t think you understand, Emmie,” she whispers, and if this situation hadn’t terrified her already, the nickname would've taken care of it. "You're not going anywhere. I'm keeping you."
Relationships: Emir Gabai/ Summer Thompson, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 11





	1. Retrieval

“I can’t believe you made me come tonight.” Hands raking listlessly through her dark hair, Emir half-heartedly glares at the chauffeur she hadn’t requested. “You can still drive me back, you know. If you value our friendship.”

Dominic barely gives her a shrug before resuming snarling into the rearview mirror, presumably checking his teeth for undesirables. “I value your sanity more,” he dismisses, finally shutting the thing and popping off his seatbelt. “When was the last time you went out? Spring break? That was two months ago, Em.”

Huffing, Emir straightens out her flannel, avoiding Dom’s pointed look. “You’ve guilted me plenty tonight,” she mutters, reaching for the door handle at the same time she shoves her sneakers back on. “I’m here, aren’t I? Watch me go.”

Before she can march away, Dominic lays his hand on her arm. Begrudgingly, she faces him, and all annoyance fades when she sees the naked concern in his green eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says in earnest, leaning against the driver-side door, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just…I want to see you have fun, that’s all. Camile wanted to see you, remember? Isn’t Camile fun?" 

She hates when he’s a good guy. It gets old, after a while. Emir slugs him in the side, rolling her eyes when he whines. "Yeah, Camile’s a hoot.” She kicks her door open, offering him a crooked smile. “Let’s go have fun, then." 

Dom whoops, tumbling out of the car and practically dancing onto the pavement. She hustles past him, losing her jacket as the front lawn comes into view. It’s already littered with solo cups and staggering adults, so they slip inside quietly and try to blend in. Emir doesn’t do a lot of parties; in fact, she should be in her dorm right now, studying for finals. It’s the only thing between her and a bachelor’s in mechanical engineering, something her aunt had majorly disapproved of. _You could walk into any AutoZone and get a job,_ , she’s said on hundreds of occasions, if not thousands. _Why are you wasting your scholarship on something useless, plymenytse?_

Describing her lifelong dream of building the first spacecraft to breach a black hole would never have reached Roza’s ears. Instead, she ignored her, like she has since childhood, and spent four years boarded up at Centre College in pursuit of an unspoken desire: NASA Kentucky, and a shuttle with her name on it. Unspoken to everyone but Dom, of course, who’s tilting a beer bottle her way with a goofy grin. 

Despite herself, she smiles back, and downs half the neck to an assortment of lazy cheers. 

A blurry hour passes, and Emir ends up on a stained couch, legs hanging off the armrest and Dominic leaning against her back. She’s on her third drink, this one a nasty mix of lemonade and stout, but she’s just tipsy enough for it to not suck. A buff jersey is chatting Dom up, and she knows he isn’t his type, but _he’s_ tipsy enough not to care. He’s laughing and resting his hand on the guy’s bicep, and Em’s staring dreamily into the kitchen, wondering if she can drink her beverage fast enough on her way there to get another one, when—

When she sees her.

Emir startles, badly. Not because the woman has appeared out of thin air, nor even attempted to garner her attention. She’s perched on a coffee table, soft pink dress clinging for dear life to her curvy frame. Blonde locks cascade over her face and down her chest as she leans over a beer pong game, pointing towards an upturned cup with an offhand comment. Emir’s first impression is that she shouldn’t be here; in a dingy house, crammed to the brim with college students and burnouts, this gorgeous girl doesn’t belong. Her earrings cost more than Em’s car. Her smile, her tuition. Her ass…her ass…

Dominic nudges her so hard, she nearly falls to the floor. She growls, resituating herself as the quarterback chuckles and Dom gives her another one of those ridiculously sincere smiles. "Go say something,” he slurs, jerking his head towards the girl in a manner that suggests Jersey may be lucking out this evening. 

Too inebriated to argue and too infatuated to care, Emir wobbles to her feet, gathering her balance before walking slowly over to the dress. Looking behind her, she narrows her eyes as Dominic flashes her a thumbs up, then squares her shoulders and approaches. 

Before she even taps her shoulder, the blonde rises gracefully. When she turns to face Emir, she infers something else about her: she’s short. Not skinny, but smaller than Em, softness wrapped around narrow, lithe bones. Blue eyes teeming with emotion seem to gobble her up, first by the face and then by the soul. The party doesn’t exist anymore. Who’s Camile?

“Hello there,” she greets, a smile on her painted lips as she sticks out a hand. Small, chubby, but her grip is warm and firm. Emir swallows the beer film coating her tongue. “And what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Immediately afterwards, the smile turns embarrassed, like she knows she made a bad joke and hopes she’s in on it. Em quickly returns the grin, shoving her own chapped hands into her jean pockets. “I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she laughs, absently blowing a lock of brown-black from her own amber eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before.”

Shrugging demurely, she takes a sip from the water bottle in her hand, utterly ignoring the cajoling boys behind her. “Because I don’t go here,” she explains, taking a slight step away from the game to be heard better. Emir nudges back instinctually. “A friend of mine convinced me to come. I haven’t been out of the house for a while, bad breakup. She wouldn’t leave me alone about it.”

Emir drinks from her own bottle, sadly setting it on the counter when she discovers it’s empty. When she hears the girl’s answer, however, she lights up. “Mine, neither.” She goes to elaborate, but when their gazes meet, she loses all semblance of rational thought. “Uh…I’m Emir. What can I call you?”

She’s awarded with a sweet giggle behind acrylic fingernails. “Summer. Or, well, whatever you’d like. I’m sure you can get creative.”

Flushing hot, Emir grasps for a response before settling on, “What’re you drinking?”

Summer gestures with her bottle. “Elixir of life.” She downs more for good measure, some dripping down her cheek, and Emir definitely doesn’t stare. Wiping her face with a coy smirk, she goes on, “I don’t drink. But that doesn’t mean I can’t buy _you_ anything.”

Standing in this crowded house, sweating under her ratty tank top and button-up, picking at the threads in her pants and processing that third beer, Emir watches Summer move with the elegance of an angel, and telepathically thanks Dominic for being such a stubborn asshole. 

They end up on the back porch, an overflowing cup nestled in Emir’s hands, both girls sitting close on the swing and staring at the night sky. As the aforementioned season nears, the brisk mornings are fading into dry heats, so Em tries to savor the windy evenings as they’re still here. As the breeze chills her through the holes in her jeans, Summer casually wraps an arm around her, and although the size difference is obvious, Em fits into her chest perfectly. _I could get used to this_ , she thinks, taking a generous sip from the drink Summer had made her. 

She’s telling Emir about a party she’d hosted in her own home the week before, a three-story across the country, and Em is genuinely interested, she is…but she can’t quite seem to keep her eyes open. Mortifyingly, she lets out a yawn, and clamps a hand over her mouth with wide eyes. “I’m sorry!” she yelps, hoping the sudden nausea running through her is simply a hoard of butterflies. “I’m listening! I just…feel kind of…”

She leans forwards on her knees, and Summer worriedly starts to rub circles into her back. “Emir? Are you okay?” she asks, but her voice sounds distant, and all Em can do is swallow dryly to avoid puking on her high heels. 

Summer seems to come to a decision. “Okay, c'mon, let’s get you up,” she tries, and Emir is shocked when she’s lifted to her feet with no effort. She’d ask if Summer does weights, and if she’d ever need a spotter sometime, but she almost falls flat on her face as she takes a step. Slowly, surely, Summer leads her around the house, making sure she avoids stumbling into the bushes, and Emir clings to her forearms with all of her strength. 

She waits for the couch to come into focus, or maybe the open garage, but she hears a car unlock, instead, and she’s gently laid down in a plush backseat. Blinking rapidly, she looks around, realizing she’s never been in this vehicle before. It’s big, with twinkling lights in the ceiling, and if she forces her head to turn, she can see the windows are tinted. 

Through the disorientation, she manages to moan softly, waving her hand from it’s lame position in her lap. Summer glances down at her, but instead of explaining, she simply nudges her in further, resting her head on a fluffy something. Her steady hands comb through Em’s sweaty hair, and she gives her a look that chills her down to her bilious core. It reminds her of staring into the bakery windows as a child, and the pure ecstasy she’d feel on the rare occasions she’d be allowed inside to take her pick. 

“Long drive ahead of us, Emmie,” she whispers so quietly, Em barely catches it as she’s dragged under the surface. “Get some sleep." 

☆

She wakes up only once, and doesn’t retain it later. Her head is aching, like someone had driven a broken axe through it as means of repair. Emir tries to move, but every muscle in her body screams, so she quickly stills and instead opens her eyes. It’s dark, a thin strip of orange outlining the square box around her. Sunrise. Her hip leans against a seatbelt, and she remembers where she is. She remembers what happened. 

As soon as she struggles to sit, however, the steady rocking she hadn’t noticed suddenly stops, and sharp nails dig into her throat as she’s shoved down again. 

"Not yet, sweetheart,” that soft voice chides. “We’re only in Tulsa.”

Before Emir can scream, a cloth is pressed to her lips, and she’s unconscious for another twenty hours.


	2. Ameliorate

"I think there’s been a mistake,” Emir laughs nervously, tugging at the metal wrapped around her throat and blinking hard against the migraine. “I’m not supposed to be here right now.”

Summer blinks, then looks down at Emir with an unreadable expression. She hasn’t gotten the chance to look at herself, having just finished fighting ruthlessly for consciousness, but the strange woman seems to like whatever it is she sees. When she’s content, she smiles, and Emir notices just how sharp her incisors are.

“No,” is her answer, “not at all. You’re right where you belong.”

Swallowing the spit threatening to choke her, Emir uses free hands to tug her dirty tank top over her knees. Nothing in this kitchen is familiar to her; the wallpaper is composed of chalky peel, the windows tinted, and the few cabinets still present are all sagging from their compartments. Chains keep her throat and wrists close to the steady heat of a rusty radiator, but not enough to truly scald her. Beads of sweat drip down her tanned face.

"I need to go home,” she tries again, scooting another millimeter across the tile floor in a subconscious attempt to breach the gap between them. She tries very hard not to start screaming. “I live in Danville. Where are we? My classes…I have to feed my spider.”

Summer grins, striding over to her cowered form with grace Emir can’t help but admire. She’d fawned over it a few hours prior, at how angelically Summer had navigated their lovers’ dance. Now, of course, she can only infer that the drink she’d been made brought her here, and that this isn’t one of the sexy sorority games she’d spent the better part of high school daydreaming about. 

She sinks onto her haunches, never breaking eye contact. Emir flinches, thinking of nothing but the primal need to distance herself, so it’s a shock when she brushes against the boiling steel Screaming, she desperately scrabbles away, getting nowhere on the slick floor with her shackles taut. Only once forces herself to stop moving does she hear Summer giggling.

Her chin is suddenly seized and brought even closer to Summer’s peripheral. “I don’t think you understand, Emmie,” she whispers, and if this situation hadn’t terrified her already, the nickname would’ve taken care of it. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m keeping you.”

Before Emir can retort with just how insane this idea is, Summer’s pleasant expression freezes over. “And I’m not stupid,” she spits, blonde coils shaking with intensity. Her fingers tighten, and Emir can’t shake them off. “You fed Frank on Thursday." 

Emir jerks and bites until Summer finally lets go. She crawls towards the other side of the kitchen, as far as she can manage, with a sudden anger boiling inside her. "You can’t keep me!” she shrieks. When Summer fists begin to tremble curling by her sides, Emir slams against one of the dusty panes. Out in the distance, past the ancient stains and substantial foliage, she can make out the dot of a little girl walking a few streets down. “Help! Let me out of here! I’ve been kidnapped! _Help_ me!”

A muted sigh interjects onto her terror, and she glares as Summer warily stands, as if she’s a puppy regressing on its training. “The windows are blacked out,” she explains, gesturing vaguely around the room. Her bright, bedazzled rings glitter in the sketchy lighting. “We’re on the third floor, and nobody’s been up here for years. Except me! I made it special for you. Sound-proofed the walls and floors, cleaned every room, even got somebody to fix the electricity. My parents don’t live here, but the workers do, you know, and I had to be sneaky. Couldn’t let them know I was getting ready for my Emmie-girl.”

As her words sink in, Emir slowly leans against the wall, gripping the sill behind her with heart-wrenching fear. She takes a deep breath, trying with every forgotten mechanism she knows not to start crying, or rocking, or speaking to God. Instead, she meets Summer’s blue eyes, which are alive with immeasurable, incomprehensible passion. “Summer,” she starts, slowly prying at the metal collar around her throat, “we only met last night. How could you have been _getting ready_?”

"Think, Emmie!“ With every syllable, every spittle and growl, a bit of her elegance crumbles. "I’m the one that got you there!”

Taking in another stale pant, Emir forces her elbows not to give way to her swaying weight. “Dominic…he said…she—”

Something pats her on the head, and she manages to twitch a few feet away, only to gag herself sore. As she slumps against the wall, Summer’s beam never breaks. “—said she liked you?” she finishes, unable to contain herself as she claps. “Said she was _fun_? Wasn’t it so perfect? Wasn’t I amazing?”

Emir gapes for a moment, unable to understand, unable to want to, before she thinks _fuck this_ and fully snaps the gap between them. Summer curses as they hit the ground, Emir toppling onto her chest and trying to land a hit. She quickly grabs Emir’s wrist, sinking those sharp teeth into her flesh, and Emir lets her go as a strip of skin slides down the bone. She gurgles, half-heartedly pulling away and swinging her other arm, but Summer has the upper-hand, now; she effortlessly flips them over, surprising Emir with her strength once more, and clocks her square across the forehead. 

As she melts into the tile, Summer wrestles her arms from their protective sheath around her and pins them next to her head. Her expression of mild frustration has sharpened into unfiltered rage. “Bad Emmie!” she yells, nailing the other cheek and bouncing her skull against the corner. “ _Bad_ girl! You’re mine now, and you listen! You listen to me!”

The assault continues until a tooth has dislodged itself from her swollen gums. As Emir blindly pats her lips to avoid choking, she hears Summer take a step back, breathing hard. She squints a blackened eye, but all she can see is purple blood, dancing lights, an angel.

Ater an eternity of silence, Summer spits near her downturned face. “Think about what you’ve done,” she says, no trace of the love she’d seemed to feel just moments ago. “I want us to have fun, Emmie. I want to be nice, but you need to be better.”

With that, a door locks behind her, and Emir lays prostrate in her own mess. She flexes her sprained fingers briefly, imagining the cold glass Summer had slipped into them hours prior. She’d giggled, chugging without question, without paranoia. Why would such a beautiful, wisened girl have it out for her? 

_What’re you drinking?_

_Elixir of life._

Emir had been reassured, pleased with herself for finding a sober, level-headed party-goer to entertain herself with. Maybe she could even forget about those finals for the night, the whole damn reason Dominic had made her go out in the first place. 

She was right about that. Emir hacks out a glob of blood, right next to the marking Summer had left, before passing into a dreamless sleep. She doesn’t think about studying once.


	3. Xerotes

Something slams off in the distance, stirring Emir from her half-sleep. She tries to open her eyes, but it hurts badly to reveal their dryness; so she manages to calm, listening into the quiet. 

Footsteps. Light, prissy ones, really. Her name forms on Emir's lips, and they crack viscerally when they part. 

How long has she been here? The party had only ended a few days ago...but she had exploded at Summer, and she had been punished. The sun sunk and rose as she tried to break the chain, then the windows, then search what she could reach for food or water. She discovered nothing but empty cabinets and the corners Summer had neglected to dust. 

Eventually, she slumped to the tile, unable to transfer her energy to anything else but staying awake. Every time she's gotten close to caving, she's thought angrily to herself, _No. I'm not dying here. Not this early._ After a few hundred hours, though, the mantra had bled into an incomprehensible slur, until it faded out entirely. 

The feet stop just above her head. She'd turn to face her, if she thought she could move. "Has someone learned their lesson yet?" 

"Yes," is her immediate response, but no lubrication in her throat makes speaking aloud impossible. Instead, she nods feverishly, only pausing when the motion makes her stomach roll over. 

When Summer doesn't say anything, she forces her lids to stay open. It takes her a while to adjust, but when she does, she can't fight the weak smile that tugs at her mouth. She's _relieved_. She's imagined her so often, hallucinated Summer rescuing, leaving, and killing her, right alongside the visions of her family wandering right past. Screaming her parched lungs raw, clawing marred nails at the ground, she'd begged them to come find her. She'd watched as they'd followed Summer, one by one. 

Except for him. The young man with the shaved head, dark brows, and eyes she'd never been able to pinpoint the color of. He'd sat with her for the first, hardest part of this punishment, saying nothing and meaning everything. She spoke to him until she worried she'd lose her voice; when she realized just how dehydrated she was, she spoke anyway. When unconsciousness dragged her under, in her dreams, she continued. He endured it all with a grin and a lit cigarette, one that never seemed to ash out. She thinks, at one point, she brushed some of it off of his jacket, and he'd laughed softly.

D. Something with a D. If she could just get a drink, she'd be able to remember. 

Summer snaps her fingers, centering Emir's warped vision back to her. "I don't believe you," Summer informs her, the humorous tilt to her voice the opposite of the expression on her face. Even this angry, disappointed, demented, Emir can find a savior in her. 

"I am," Emir manages to croak, reaching with all her strength so her arm can fall out in front of her. Summer watches it slap against the ground with little interest. "I'm sorry."

After a moment, she gives Emir a reassuring smile, and she almost believes she's going to be shown mercy; but Summer shakes her head and says, "I don't want your apology, Emmie-girl." 

Emir flounders, racking her disconcerting memories for what the answer could possibly be. Before she can launch into another beg for forgiveness, Summer suddenly reaches down and cinches her by the hair, firmly yanking. What were full, bright coils a week before have faded into brittle strands, and it hurts worse than she anticipated. Emir screams, the sound shredding her esophagus, and scrabbles against the slick tile to catch her balance. She ends up on sore knees, bent slightly forward and yet unable to lean on her hands. Summer keeps her floating. Summer keeps her waiting. 

After an unbearable moment of eye contact, Summer shakes her and snarls, "Tell me you were _wrong_! You want to be here, you want me to take care of you. You need me! Say it, Emmie!" Blinking past fireworks, Emir registers that she's crying, tears dripping slowly onto her ruined jeans. 

She latches onto Summer's wrist with everything she has left. The fury in her navy eyes gives way to a little surprise, and Emir tries to hold on to it with a desperate look. "I was—" She begins to cough, and Summer lets go, almost pulls away. Emir grips harder, bonds clinking. "I was wrong, Summer, I _do_ need you. I almost died without you."

Forehead wrinkling, Summer jerks her up a little higher, visibly fighting a grin when Emir groans. "And you still will, because you're mine. I decide when you live and when you leave. You understand me?"

Emir's fast to respond, but for a fleeting moment, she revels in that word. _Leave_. She's sure Summer doesn't mean it in any other way but fatally, biblically; even so, in this place between death and something worse, she tastes that bitter dream, and she bites onto it. Croaking, thumb in Summer's palm, she whispers, "I'll die without you. I'm yours, you decide. I love you."

The smile grows as she speaks, and when she finishes, Summer's beaming from ear-to-pierced-ear. Emir is promptly dropped, and she screams behind her teeth as her jaw cracks against the floor. Before she can digest the pain, Summer nudges her stomach, kicking her over so she's facing the ceiling. The back of her skull bounces against the floor. Blonde hair tickles the tip of her nose. 

"You _do_ , do you, Emmie?" she teases, hands deftly reaching under her throat and working the lock with an unseeable key. Emir's throbbing hands flop uselessly back to her sides, unable to perform such a physical feat again. "Good thing, because I love you, too, and I'm never letting you go. You did such a good job."

The pleasure that washes over Emir when that chain comes off is so palpable, she nearly passes out. Instead, she watches through tired eyes as Summer effortlessly lifts her up, carrying her shrunken form through the doorway and down a grand, dilapidated hallway. After a time, she's gently lowered onto something soft; with growing nausea, she realizes she's in Summer's bed, the place she had once so coveted. 

Before she can fully lay down, a hand is at her back and a thermos full of liquid is thrust into her face. Nearly warbling in excitement, Emir paws at the cup, trying to pour it down her throat. "No, baby," Summer chides, although all sense of her incensement has evaporated into coddlement. Emir has satiated her. She's earned life. "You'll get sick like that, I've got you."

Once she's finished half the water, Summer carefully pries it from her and rests it onto the bedside table. Emir would protest, would rip the top off and dump it all over her face, if she weren't so fucking exausted. As Summer tucks the plush comforter underneath her numb chin, she gingerly creeps her fingers out from underneath and grasps at the air. Once Summer notices, she eyes her briefly, suspiciously, before threading their hands together. 

Emir manages to squeeze weakly, mumbling as earnestly as she can, "Thank you for saving me."

Laughing under her breath, Summer presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. She smells good, fruity...maybe raspberry scones. Like the ones she had at midnight, in the café with him. Winter break? He's laughing under his breath at a joke she knows isn't funny, his single silver earring glimmering in the flickering light, and they just ordered another round of horchatas. They'd been fighting over who could get the waitress's number first. How strange it is that she can see the pocks in his cheek so clearly, and yet she can't remember her mother's name. 

Slipping to a happier place, she barely catches Summer's pleased voice murmuring into her ear, "You're welcome, Emmie-girl. Twice over."

**Author's Note:**

> also posted on tumblr @rmlone. accepting prompts and requests. i love comments!


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